“Anger is unproductive,” Seb deadpans.
Marco huffs. “For some, it’s invigorating.”
Fly takes a couple of hesitant steps my way. “I know Art can be difficult. Carless, sassy, incredibly annoying, flaky, and crazy.”
“He is a brat! His attitude…”
“You like it. I saw it with my own two eyes,” Fly interrupts me, and I snort. “You know what I love about him? How he gives the world the middle finger without caring about anything or anyone. How he makes me look at things from a different angle.”
His resilience, his wit, and his brightness.
“He brought out a new side of you, a lighter one,” Fly adds. He did, didn’t he?
“Watching you banter was…interesting,” Marco smirks. “It reminds me of the good fucking times, when we were kids.”
Fuck. No matter how many lines I’ve drawn, Art just stepped over them, with that sassy attitude and those shamelessly flirty grins.
“I feel like you are slow-walking me to an epiphany,” I sniff. But it’s still too hard for me to believe it.
“I’ll speed up.” Marco puts his body in front of me. “Do you really think the sins of the father fall on the son? …The younger son, since the older one is the psycho who killed your mom.”
That’s a counterpunch right in the gut, and it lands hard.
“Art is my enemy.” I don’t know who I’m trying to convince anymore. Because if Art indeed is my enemy, the only thing he’s actually guilty of is driving me fucking crazy. He drenched me in all his insanity, his brilliant spirit, and those quirky idiosyncrasies of his.
“My family…”
“We are, Luca. We are your family.” Marco curses, sounding exasperated.
“You can have both, you know?” Fly states softly. “Don’t need to choose your vendetta over Art or vice versa. He’d never make you.”
I know he wouldn’t. He never even asked me to spare him. Never reminded me that he wasn’t responsible for my parents’ deaths. Not once. He cried for them and apologized. I didn’t tell him, but I’ve never felt as emotionally attuned as I did in that moment with him.
“I’ll ask you the same question I asked Marco regarding Fly. Do you need him?” Seb asks me with his no-bullshit, let’s-get-down-to-it tone.
I try to convey what I feel with my gaze and my voice. “I hate him.” The words are the same as I uttered before, but the meaning behind them is a different story.
He nods. “You have my blessing.”
I do?
“Great. We need to help Art, and if you won’t do it, I will,” Fly declares, pointing his thumb against his chest while giving each of us a hard look.
I grit my teeth. Every cell in my body is screaming at me to do just that.
“Butterfly…” Marco tries to placate him, squeezing his arms.
“No! I…” he stops, looking overwhelmed by his emotions. “Art came to save me, now it’s my turn.”
“He left on his own will,” Seb reminds him, since that’s exactly what he wanted, for Art to go back to his family, leaving a fucking note, behind. I want to spank him until he begs for forgiveness.
“The rumors you spread about him having cold feet. You think his family will welcome him with open arms?” Fly hisses. “How about Coretti?”
“Fuck.” He’s right. Jack Enzino must be pissed. I never felt this level of dread. Life is a continuous fight, it leaves bruises, it creates hollow feelings, gives cold shivers. It never lets me rest for long. Every time I’ve been hurt, I got a scar from it, every mistake a lesson to remember, but I’ve never felt this kind of intense apprehension. The profound fear of losing something again. It’s a thousand times worse than any physical pain I’ve endured without even a drop of visible blood.
“If we interfere, it will mean war,” Marco says with a stony expression.
“We’re already at war,” Seb interjects. “I’ve been preparing for this for years. Art didn’t have such a big part in my plan, but the plan has changed.”
